


Morning Visit

by Frostbearer



Series: 50 themes - Vergil & Dante [35]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Family, Gen, General, author has a funny sense of humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbearer/pseuds/Frostbearer
Summary: Mornings at the Devil May Cry building were always interesting. Pre DMC3





	Morning Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: #46 - Sun  
> Originally written in 2012 and posted on ff.net

 

The sun shone in through one of the high factory-windows through a patch of glass that somehow had managed to escape getting dirty during the many years that Dante had avoided cleaning them. To say that Dante at all cleaned implied that the speaker didn’t know Dante very well.

Speaking of the second-born son of Sparda; he was lying – well, actually he was more like passed out on his bed, face buried into his pillow. That small beam of sunlight that had managed to evade the smudge shone down pretty much exactly on where Dante’s face would have been, had he been sunny side up. One might suspect this was the cause for his current position. Just might.

Instead the sunlight was content in highlighting Dante’s hair, making the silver strands shimmer and light up in a pale, pale blue.

A few strands teased the nape of his neck. Dante had forgotten to get a haircut… again.

The figure standing by the foot of Dante’s bed took this in during precious few moments along with that Dante had forgotten to undress last night, not only forgetting to remove clothes but also the heavy work-boots. He noticed the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey standing on the bedside table, the general disorder in the room, clothes scattered here and there, weapons carelessly thrown over a frayed armchair. Without a doubt Dante had slipped up so much that his precious handguns Ivory & Ebony lay next to the heavy broadsword Rebellion on the armchair instead of underneath Dante’s pillow where he usually kept them.

The only thing proving that Dante hadn’t completely lost all of his sanity was the glint of silver by his neck, one hand even in sleep clutching at his half of the prefect amulet.

Still… it would be child’s play for Vergil to take it at this point, and though he didn’t know why, the firstborn son of Sparda hesitated in taking it from his almost comatose brother.

“Too easy,” his mind screamed to him, while another part of him urged him to just get on with it.

Finally, frowning to himself, Vergil told himself that when he took the amulet it would be when he could humiliate his brother the most. To defeat him utterly and crush all hope within him.

As quietly as he’d arrived he left, leaving Dante none the wiser of his visit.

The sun crept higher on the sky, and by the time Dante blearily awoke that small ray of sunlight had vanished, much like Vergil.

 


End file.
